


Paint me alive.

by orphan_account



Series: The Two Crowns : B Side [19]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Magic, the two crowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:17:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5613670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world was cruel, soulless, and Shohei knew it. But there was always someone to remind him to look away, to look closely and to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint me alive.

Some days, Shohei thinks that the world lost its colours. That the blue of the sky and the sea was washed away with the blood of his family; that the green of the forests and the grey of the rocks were lost as his own tongue were. The world had lost its colours, when he had to survive alone, whimpers of words as he cried for something that would never come again. For any god, any magic to take him somewhere he could see and feel again without feeling anguish and fear. 

 

Some days, Shohei still thinks these colours have disappeared. He sees the faded ones of the Eyrie, the rocks and marbles used through time, discoloured through war and ages, and the old soul of the Vale does not seem so different than his washed out world. 

He hears the sea and smells it still on Yaku, the roar of waves in his laughter and anger both, but no real colour to be seen. He sees the same blood on his hands than on Lord Tetsurou’s - Kuroo’s- , and the same sickening red on Kenma’s lips. The yellow of the sun, the warmth of the fire he so often huddled close to in the youth of Sou and Yuuki. 

 

The world has no colours but Shohei swears he can smell them, swears he can see them still for as long as he is in the Vale, as long as he looks at these strange people he is slowly but so surely considering family. Alive and well, stronger than any magic Shohei knows to crawl under his veins, contained in the ghost of the tongue he has lost and the words he always wants to vomit until he is bursting with energy. 

It is a curse, more violent than any he had intended, and he cannot help but dream of having such power at his grasp again, to feel it running in his fingertips, against his skin like animal fur, like wargs know to become animals themselves. 

 

But the animality of it all slips away at night, in the haunting silence of the Eyrie, at the sight of weirwood, imposing and humbling up on the stairs where Kuroo stands, regal, and Shohei bows to it. Bows to the offer and loyalty to this Lord too, at peace finally. 

They have no need for an animal, they have no need for a wild witch of the wood; stranger still in these greenlands but as strange as any member of the court if taken apart.   
  


The world has lost its colours, but Shohei finds something even more valuable than any oil, any paint sold in the rich countries of the southern Kingdoms, said to paint the sky blue, purple, or dragons with flames as red as blood. 

Even Taketora, even his boisterous laughter and his passionate love can’t quit make Shohei believe the world is at it once were. 

 

Before it all, Shohei thinks, even in the darkest of time, even when his only home is the Eyrie and Shohei is content, at peace, curled in front of fire and giant stones. 

  
  
  


“The colours seem vibrant.” Taketora says one day, muttering but Shohei does not have to strain his ears to hear his words, never. So he looks up from his book, from the boiling balm in the jar to look at him, cocking his head in a question Taketora always hears, the beats of their hearts like words, slow and repeated, again and again until their brain know what they mean.

 

“When you touch me, I mean” Taketora adds and Shohei feels it. 

The slow burn, the appreciation and low desire he always feels when Shohei is around, flashes of memories, of dreams shared - about naked skin, about Shohei’s moans and whimpers, of his named cried out in his mind until Taketora feels deaf to anything but pleasure thrumming through the body underneath him - and Shohei tries not to be distracted by the thought, shuffling around until his robes are correctly put again. 

“The colours are vibrant then, like I could not see before it happens and gods Shohei, it is beautiful.” he finally finishes and Shohei hides his face from him.

 

It is magic, he wants to say. It is intent and unleashing what I desire through your skin until we are one, until we are joined and you see the same as I do. 

Shohei feels taketora hands take his, kissing the knuckles reverently until Shohei looks up to him, seeing heat and peace in one stare and he cannot help but kiss Taketora, to feel the chapped lips -he tastes like sea and ale, Shohei notes- against his until their thoughts are one. He feels Taketora’s laughters, the thrum of his vocal cords against him and he feels like they make only one being, even as Taketora licks his lips playfully until Shohei snickers back. 

 

Do not be so serious, Taketora says through caresses and laughter, the world is too bright for this; And Shohei believes him, always. 

 

The world has lost its colours, for Shohei only, but Taketora’s kisses are bright red, and not the one of blood. He always reminds Shohei that it is worth living in, no matter the hurt, no matter the blood or the pain permeating the old stones of the Eyrie, and the weariness of its ruler.

 

“I have tongue enough for two, trust me.” he had said one day, winking at Shohei before sucking on his neck so hard Shohei had whimpered loudly, clutching at Taketora with strong hands and Shohei had seen.   
he had seen the colorful tendrils of magic against their hearts, their souls, of bright red and gold, of pastel hues that made Shohei’s heart clench, smelling and seeing colours as much as he felt Taketora against him, lifting his robes until he was thumbing at his thighs, making Shohei open them languidly. 

  
He could always find them in this man, no matter where they were. Like a painting, oil mixing with paint and Shohei felt like a brush, loved and adored as they both laid together. 


End file.
